


525,600

by andunetir



Series: femslash february 2ktheyty [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andunetir/pseuds/andunetir
Summary: The shared lives of Afsaneh Paris and Philippa Georgiou, as told through five cups of coffee.(This work was published as a chapter before I decided to split Femslash February up into separate works, so if you think you might have seen this before, that's why.)
Relationships: Philippa Georgiou/Commodore Paris (Star Trek: Alternate Original Series)
Series: femslash february 2ktheyty [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626556
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	525,600

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radioactive_violet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactive_violet/gifts).



> Yes, the title is a RENT reference, but this is not a RENT AU and you don't need to know anything about it at all. If you want to see how 525,600 relates to coffee, you can look at the lyrics and/or listen to Seasons of Love [here](http://525600.com/).

The mug materializes in her periphery. It’s in her hand before she registers her own movement, the scent and the sound of it hitting the table evoking some deeply conditioned response.

Philippa watches, amused, as she drains the coffee in one long chug. It burns going down, but it’s gone 4 a.m. and Afsaneh is _still_ stuck working on this Diplomacy paper, so, really, she’s just dead inside at this point.

“That’s going to kill you one day,” her girlfriend cheerfully observes. Her uniform is impeccable, braid still intact even though she’s been pulling an all-nighter, too. Afsaneh hates her a little bit for it. She’s got stains on her pajamas and coagulated sweat in her pits, and it’s not fair that Philippa looks so damn good, even when her face is lined with exhaustion. It’s infuriating. Afsaneh wants to rip that jacket off her with her teeth.

Instead, she says, “If you don’t kill me first.” Philippa snorts, snagging the empty mug off the desk. 

“I would never. I’ve decided not to outlive you.”

Afsaneh stares at the last sentence she typed without really seeing it. Eventually, the mug rematerializes at her hand, along with a Danish. 

Philippa’s lips press warm against her temple. Her breath tickles Afsaneh’s ear as she says, “And I think we both know that I always keep my word.”

It’s weirdly morbid, and yet—sweet, somehow, albeit concerning. They’re only cadets, with all of space and time ahead of them. They’ve talked about how they want to explore together, late at night, holding onto each other for dear life so they don’t fall out of Afsaneh’s twin bed. It doesn’t feel like it when she’s still two pages short at 4 a.m., but she has time. They both do. Their lives at this point are twin ellipses.

Philippa leaves, the strange thoughts of death trailing in her wake. Afsaneh picks up her new mug of coffee. The warmth and weight in her hands grounds her in her work.

She starts a new paragraph on the page, and begins to type.

****

She’s woken by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Strong, if she had to guess. Stunningly similar to the kind she likes from that one place near her childhood home in Tehran.

Soft lips press against her forehead. She opens her eyes to find Philippa leaning over her, eyes shining in that way that’s reserved solely for Afsaneh.

Well—Afsaneh and astrophysical marvels. It isn’t an unflattering comparison, knowing that Philippa is as dazzled by her presence as she is when watching a cosmic bow shock in real time.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” her wife murmurs. _Her wife._ Afsaneh can finally say that, after several failed attempts at maintaining a long-distance relationship and both of their respective divorces. She stretches luxuriantly against the sheets, her wedding dress discarded long before they both fell asleep, Philippa still half-dressed in her shirt from the night before.

“Morning.” She makes grabby hands at the coffee, and Philippa laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“I swear you only married me because I have your coffee order memorized.”

Afsaneh wrests the mug from her grasp. “I take it black, Philippa.” She raises an eyebrow at her as she takes her first, imperious sip.

Philippa flops over on the bed, clutching her chest in mock-injury. “Ah, the lady doth protest so much, I fear myself unworthy of her affections.”

Afsaneh rolls her eyes. Philippa pouts, making puppy dog eyes at her. She takes a long, bracing swig of her coffee before setting the mug down on the nightstand.

“Ugh, _fine._ ” Philippa smiles into the kiss, which Afsaneh found weird the first few times it happened, but then she’d said something about being unable to stop around her, and Afsaneh found her knees shaking a little, despite how unbelievably sappy the whole thing was.

“Mm.” Philippa pulls back to trace the line of Afsaneh’s nose with her fingertip. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Afsaneh can’t help but smile back at her new wife, radiant in the morning light. Her palms warm the back of Afsaneh’s neck like the sun.

They stay like that for a moment, taking each other in. Philippa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe it took us this long.”

Afsaneh kisses her again, because the light years separating them for so long have receded into distant memory, Philippa alive and safe and right here beside her. “I know. I can’t wait to grow old with you and die tragically in your arms.”

Philippa snorts. “If anything, _I’ll_ die tragically in your arms. I’ll be watching your eulogy from the afterlife, so you better say nice things and shed a tear or two.”

“I don’t think so,” Afsaneh shakes her head. “You need to wear that suit I love at my funeral, so everyone will be jealous of how hot and unavailable my wife is.”

“Mm-mm.” Philippa reaches for her hands, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve decided not to outlive you, and I’d hate to break my word.”

She’s still smiling, but her eyes are serious, searching Afsaneh’s face. Afsaneh decides then that that’s enough talk of death, and promptly sets about making Philippa forget.

The coffee goes cold on the nightstand. Afsaneh downs it in one go, several hours later, and laughs when Philippa wrinkles her nose and shudders.

****

Philippa’s holographic form flickers into existence in front of her. “Jāné del-am. I can’t talk long, I’m afraid.”

She expected this, but Afsaneh still feels a flicker of disappointment. “Betazoids giving you a hard time?”

“Believe it or not, Starfleet is the one being a pain in my ass.” Afsaneh traces the furrow of her brow with her eyes and imagines smoothing it out with her fingers. “They want a treaty, they’re going to have to compromise. You’d think they’d understand basic diplomacy.”

Afsaneh watches her pace to and fro. “So nothing’s changed.”

“Not in the least, and so we stay here, cooped up and testy, while the admiralty postures and poses.” Philippa has that look on her face that tells Afsaneh she’s going to make a beeline for the punching bags in the hotel gym as soon as she hangs up. “Idiots, the lot of them. I’m going to strangle Anderson with my bare hands.”

“He’s not worth the effort.” Afsaneh stands, moving to block her path even though Philippa's hologram could just walk through her. “Stay here and talk to me instead.”

Philippa stops, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rage-spew at you.”  
  
Afsaneh rests a hand over where Philippa’s shoulder should be. Philippa’s expression softens a little at the gesture, covering Afsaneh’s hand with her own, tinged blue by the projection.

“I miss you.” She gestures behind her at something Afsaneh can’t see. “Look, I even made you a coffee.”

Afsaneh pulls away to fetch her own half-full mug. “Put it here.” The holographic coffee materializes when Philippa picks it up and disappears when she sets it down where Afsaneh’s rests, as if she just slid it across the desk and right into Afsaneh’s hand. “Mm. Smells good, sayang, thank you.”

Philippa smiles, which only serves to highlight how worn out she looks. Afsaneh’s gaze flickers to the empty bed that always seems too big when they’re apart, even though they both love their respective ships and crews.

“You’re an angel, you know that?”

Afsaneh tips her mug towards her in acknowledgment. “That means you’re married to a dead person. Congratulations.”

“Nope. You’re not allowed to die before me, remember?”

“I don’t think you have any say in that.”

“I do, and I’ve decided that I won’t outlive you.” Philippa crosses her arms. “Now I just have to make Brett Anderson feel the same way about me, and boom, peace treaty signed, Betazoids happy, problem solved.”

Afsaneh can’t help the flicker of amusement that arises at her wife’s irritation. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“Oh my _stars,_ you have _no_ idea.” Philippa shakes her head, but she seems a little more relaxed than she was earlier, which Afsaneh takes as a win. “I have to go. I never even asked you about your day, I feel bad.”

Afsaneh waves her off. “Uneventful. I’m almost tempted to come find you, if only for the drama.”

“What I wouldn’t give to trade places with you right now.” Philippa heaves a sigh, glancing off at what Afsaneh assumes is a chronometer. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow? I’m so sorry, love.”

“Go, go.” Philippa blows her a kiss, which Afsaneh pretends to catch and dunk in her coffee. “Save the world. My superhero.”

Philippa nods. “Love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Her hologram fades, leaving the room too quiet once again. Afsaneh lets herself stew in it for a minute before shaking herself back into action, reaching for the stack of PADDs on her desk.

The coffee has gone lukewarm. Afsaneh closes her eyes as she sips, savoring the press of the rim and imagining Philippa’s lips in their place instead.

****

Her first thought, after _no_ and _Philippa_ and _oh my god_ , is _She really did keep her word._

Philippa would have gotten a kick out of it. The moment she thinks that, she dissolves into another fit of tears.

Once she manages to calm down, the days blur by in a haze. She’s aware of her own movement, of making decisions and accepting stiff condolences, but none of it seems quite real until she walks into the tent and smells coffee, sees it on tap next to the pastries and sandwiches.

She bolts for the bathroom and barely makes it before she starts heaving up the contents of her stomach.

She knew Starfleet would turn her into their poster girl for the war, so Afsaneh had insisted on a private ceremony for family and close friends first. There was no body to bury. Afsaneh isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse.

The sunrise over Pulau Langkawi is beautiful, and Afsaneh can’t help but remember the day after their wedding, when Philippa woke her up with a freshly brewed cup—

It was a joke, she knew, one of the many things they teased each other with, but Afsaneh wonders if, deep down, Philippa somehow knew she really would die before her. In some ways, it makes sense—Philippa has always been reckless where Afsaneh is restrained—but she hadn’t expected the universe to take her bright, brilliant lover so soon.

All she wants is for Philippa to be standing there on the other side of the bathroom door, offering her a mug of her favorite coffee. The memory of the taste makes her throw up again.

But life goes on, and Afsaneh has a crew to lead. She pulls herself back together and falls apart and pulls herself back together again, more times than she cares to count.

For months, she subsists on black tea in disposable cups. When she’s finally able to look at her mug again, she fills it only with decaf.

****

“Time to wake up, nooré cheshm-am.”

It’s the smell, more so than even the sound of her voice, that rouses Afsaneh. Strong and black, the kind she likes from that one place near her childhood home in Tehran.

Philippa is smiling through her tears, her eyes soft the way they only ever are when she looks at Afsaneh. She’s radiant, almost as young as she was when they first met, hair perfectly styled even after death.

In her hands, she cradles a single, perfect mug of coffee.

The sun is rising over Pulau Langkawi. Afsaneh reaches for Philippa and knows that she is home.

**Author's Note:**

> So... Brett fucking Anderson, amirite?
> 
> Writing this wrenched my heart from my chest and ripped it apart in front of my eyes. It also turned out way longer than I expected, so I may not do a prompt tomorrow (sorry, but I have other things that I need to get to irl).
> 
> "Jāné del-am" and "nooré cheshm-am" are both Farsi endearments meaning "life of my heart" and "light of my eyes," respectively, according to [this webpage](https://www.chaiandconversation.com/2014/12-things-call-your-persian-lover). "Sayang" is Malay, meaning "love."
> 
> Want me to write something for Femslash February? See my list of fandoms and ships [here](https://andunetir.tumblr.com/post/190503256827/femslash-february), and send in your requests [here](https://andunetir.tumblr.com/ask)!


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